Super Secret Club: The Cookie Crumb Trail

     On this particular day, the treehouse is entirely deserted, with not even a cookie crumb in sight. Instead, the Super Secret Club have congregated,at their pint-sized leader's behest , beneath the shade of the old oak tree.

     "What're you doing there, Al?" Vyla, the Camouflage Techo asks, slightly confused as to why Al is lying with his stomach pressed into the dirt, peering at something she can't see.

     "Magic," the Baby Grundo squeaks in reply. "Look!"

     She treads cautiously forwards, sharing a confused look with Taros the Tyrannian Skeith, the other member of the Super Secret Club. The two of them squat down to see a cookie lying on the ground.

     "Watch," Al commands. The three of them stay very still for a few moments, and ever so slowly, a tiny crumb detaches itself from the cookie. "See?" Al exclaims "Told ya it was magic."

     They observe as the now free crumb slowly floats towards a patch of grass, and several more morsels follow of their own accord.

     "Where ya goin', cookie?" Al calls, shuffling after the line of crumbs, and covering himself in mud in the process.

     "Wait a minute, Al!" Taros cries, galumphing after the surprisingly speedy leader.

     "Guys!" Vyla groans, already in hot pursuit.

     The mysterious trail of cookie crumbs seems to have been designed to take them on as arduous a route as possible, Vyla realises, as they're led around the same tree for the third time. In fact, they're so invested in this new addition to the garden that they don't quite realise that they have walked right out of the gate until there is the distinct sound of bicycle bells and shouts of 'Move it!' Thankfully, Taros is able to snatch Al out of the way before he gets squashed by a speeding squadron of scooters.

     "No cycling on the path!" Vyla hisses after them, before realising that she sounds an awful lot like Mrs Jenkins next door.

     Despite his near brush with catastrophe, it is mere moments before Al is off again, his attention entirely focused on the crumbs. They pass the new neighbour's house, and Taros shudders at the memory of tackling a Werhond to the floor to rescue Al's precious Ducky. His parents had given him a lecture on responsibility lasting about three hours when they'd found out.

     Suddenly, Al stops in the middle of the pavement, and Taros almost collides with him. They have reached a crossroads, and the sounds of distant traffic thunders around them. Al isn't allowed to cross the road. That's one of the rules his Mama made up. He stands on the verge, clutching his Ducky tightly. Vyla and Taros look at each other.

     "It'll be fine if we don't tell his Mama," Vyla whispers.

     "You sure?" Taros frowns. "I'm not in the mood to be screamed at for the rest of the day if anything goes wrong."

     "And it won't," the Techo insists. It's just some stupid cyclists, nothing to worry about."

     "Fine," the Skeith replies. "But I'm not taking the blame if he gets hurt." He turns to Al. "Make sure you stay close, all right?"

     Al nods solemnly, and proceeds to grip their hands so tightly that it hurts.

     The traffic grinds to a halt after several long moments, and without warning, the tiny Grundo races across the road, dragging them after him. When they are safely on the opposite side, he plonks himself down on a nearby grassy bank.

     "That was scary," he murmurs, jamming his thumb in his mouth.

     "We're safe now, buddy. Don't worry." Taros picks him up effortlessly, and places him onto his back. Al lets out a quiet giggle. "Now, where's this trail gone?"

     "There!" Vyla points to where the crumbs seem to have gathered speed. "Wonder what's at the end?"

     "Maybe some sort of cookie magnet?" Taros jokes. From his perch, Al squeals with delight.

     "Oh, goody! Let's go an' find the cookie mag...." He frowns over the word. "Mag... net?"

     "Yes, sir!" Taros salutes, galloping off and leaving Vyla to once again bring up the rear.

     On this side of the road, it couldn't be more different. Instead of toys scattered around in the gardens they pass, precisely placed lawn ornaments sit on perfectly trimmed grass. The houses are at least three storeys tall, but there are no voices emanating from any of them, as though they are cardboard cut-outs. Vyla has to stop the boys from racing over to splash in an enormous fountain on the street corner. She can't help but imagine that if anyone saw the three of them here, they'd be sent straight to the Pound for looking so common.

     Before long, their way is blocked by a towering brick wall, and the floating crumbs appear to have vanished. Taros is about to break the news to Al that their search has been for nothing, but then Vyla spots some tiny specks crawling up the wall.

     "What's that?" Al asks, peering at the miniscule objects.

     "Looks like a load of Glymes to me," Taros answers thoughtfully. He places a broad paw on the wall, allowing one to slither onto his wrist.

     Al observes the miniscule creature, and reaches out a hesitant finger to touch it. "'S 'all gooey!" he giggles. "Like a jelly. But what did they want with my cookie?"

     "Same as you," Vyla replies. "They're just hungry."

     "So it wasn't magic?" Al asks. "Just the hungry Glymes?"

     "Yeah. Sorry about that, bud." Taros ruffles his hair. "You're not upset, are you?"

     "Nope!" Al beams. "I wanna share all my cookies with 'em!"

     "I'm sure they'd like that." Vyla grins, pulling out a jam jar from her pocket. Taros doesn't bother to ask why she's carrying a jam jar around. "See if you can find some leaves and twigs, so that the Glyme will be nice and comfy."

     Al scampers around on the verge, pulling up tussocks of grass, plucking leaves from the manicured bushes, and generally being a nuisance to the rich residents. He returns with his arms full of foliage, sprinkling it artistically inside the jar. Taros gently slips the Glyme inside, where it slithers curiously around its new home.

     Al holds the jar up to his eye. "He looks super cosy in there."

     "He sure does," Taros agrees. "Why don't we go back and show your Mama?"

     "Uh-huh!" he agrees, proudly clutching his miniature ecosystem to his chest. "An' maybe tomorrow, we can go and find a Petpet, so that they can be pals, just like us!"

     Vyla and Taros share a grin above his head, watching their friend race back towards his house as the sun sinks below the horizon.

The End